


The Insurance Call

by DenmarkStreetGutterClub



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Corm Has a Thing for Robin in Glasses, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub
Summary: Cormoran has to make a dull, tedious call, when Robin comes back to the office and makes things interesting.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	The Insurance Call

**Author's Note:**

> With sincere apologies to the insurance agent. 😅

“Right,” said Strike into his mobile, idly tapping the pen in his hand onto the notepad in front of him. 

“Yeah, I understand, but I don’t have that particular issue waived-” 

The insurance broker interrupted, speaking over him, his voice somehow sounding superior, even when coming through the tinny mobile reception. 

Strike’s attention wandered, half-listening to the details he should be paying full attention to. He had been on hold with the company for 45 minutes, waiting to speak to someone, and even though he had lost all interest in the task, it had to be done. Hanging up would mean starting the whole bloody thing from the beginning. 

He looked out the window to the street below, noting how dark it was getting. He heard the front door to the office opening and closing, registering the light, brisk footsteps of Robin and the answering lift of his spirits. 

“Right,” he said again automatically, during a pause. 

Robin came into his office, and Strike lost the thread of the phone call completely. 

She had been undercover; he knew that. It was the first day on the job as an archivist; he knew that too. 

He hadn’t seen her in the morning, though, and as Robin grimaced at his mobile with a whispered, “Sorry, just came in to grab a file,” Strike’s mind went blank.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. 

Robin wore a soft, rose coloured silk blouse, tucked into a tight grey pencil skirt that outlined, in loving detail, the very generous curve of her ass. The top two buttons on her blouse were undone, a delicate gold chain glinting at her throat. Her hair was up in a loose bun held up by a pencil, with soft threads of spun red-gold escaping and framing a pair of slim, black framed glasses. 

Those glasses. _Fuck._

She walked closer to the desk, that skirt making every shift her hips gloriously visible. He couldn’t help himself; his eyes swept down her legs and saw a pair of patent leather black pumps. 

He reached for his tea, long gone cold, and took a mighty swallow.

“Mr. Strike?” came the voice in his ear, and he started. 

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” he said, and he could have sworn he saw a smile hovering on Robin’s lips as she turned to the filing cabinet a few feet to his left, and began flipping efficiently through the manila envelopes.

“There’s a document that we mailed you, that will have some codes on it you need to give me over the phone, to verify your account.”

“Right,” said Strike, watching Robin’s tongue poke out between her lips as her hands flicked expertly along. She shook her head, mumbling, then knelt easily on the floor, pulling the bottom drawer open and leaning over it. 

He tried to look away. He really did. 

But: that silk blouse fell open at just the right angle, exposing the soft swell of breast above a peek of a grey lace bra, and he was half-hard already, because those fucking glasses were doing a number on him, and in the evening twilight her skin looked luminous.

 _Robin_ was luminous.

He looked away and shifted casually in his chair; his trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight, and he mentally told his cock to calm the fuck down. 

“If you’ll please read me the six-digit document number on the top right corner of the page?” the agent was saying.

“The six-digit document number on the top right corner,” he repeated numbly, trying an incognito readjustment of his erection, and Robin stood, flicking him an amused glance behind the frames, before reaching for the small pile of papers on his desk, selecting one, and tossing it in front of him. 

Had she just seen that? Christ, he hoped not. For a million different reasons.

“Thanks,” he mouthed, picking up the document, and she shook her head at him with a fond smile. 

He mercifully located the number, and read it out loud, Robin still standing in front of his desk. 

“Excellent,” came the crisp voice. “Moving on, if you could now turn to page-”

Except Strike had stopped listening, because Robin had walked round to his side of the desk, and, pushing his chair slightly back, knelt in front him. 

“What-” 

“I’m helping you,” she said, smiling mischievously, and smoothed both of her palms slowly up his thighs.

His cock was definitely _not_ calming the fuck down, and in a second she would-

Robin’s hands made contact, and his erection jumped treasonously into her touch. He grit his teeth. 

“Page 4, Mr. Strike, have you located page 4?”

“Pardon? Oh, er-yeah, page 4, got it.”

He turned the pages messily over, reaching page 4, caught between laughing in disbelief and swearing with delighted shock as Robin’s hands stroked him through his trousers. Once, twice, and then she kept going, building a leisurely rhythm that sent warm bursts of pleasure traveling from his spine to his fingertips. 

“Mmmm,” he breathed out, into the mobile and sounding ridiculous. His eyes were on Robin’s, who sped up, and he closed his eyes, surrendering to sheer sensation. 

“What does it say your class of coverage is?”

Strike opened his eyes, and Robin’s fingers went up to his belt buckle, undoing it and tugging it free, then unzipping his fly. 

“Oh, Jesus,” breathed Strike, as Robin the archivist gave him a delicious, devilish grin, and wrapped her hand around his cock.

“Mr. Strike?”

He’d lost the ability to talk. He’d lost the ability to process, because Robin Ellacott was leaning farther down, gripping his cock in sure hands and opening lips he’d fantasized over for far too fucking long, and lowering her mouth to him. 

The insurance agent was saying something, but Strike couldn’t be sure. He didn’t think he’d ever been so hard in his life, and when Robin pressed her lips tenderly to the tip of him, her eyes burning into his as she placed a soft, wet kiss on the head of his cock, his free hand flailed wildly out and slammed onto the desk. 

“Holy fuck.” 

“I’m going to ask you not to use that language sir, I understand this is a frustrating process, but if you continue to-”

“Oh, my god, I’m sorry, I just -”

Robin kissed the tip of him again, then slowly opened her mouth, her tongue swirling generously around the top of his shaft. 

“-stubbed my toe,” managed Strike, barely perceptible. 

“Oh, that’s terrible. If you’d like to call us back-”

“M’ fine, call’n’ now,” grunted Strike, as Robin opened wider, her mouth covering him, and moved down, and fireworks of ecstasy exploded through him.

It felt so good it should be illegal. She was working her mouth up and down, all warm, wet, divine suction, her hot tongue dragging along the underside of his cock, leaving his shaft glistening with saliva with each movement up, then swallowing more and more of him, taking him deeper and deeper with each pass, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep his hips from jerking forward on reflex. He was gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

“Mr. Strike, if you can just look at the paragraph on page 23 and confirm for me the code in box A, then I can move onto the final step-”

“Page ah, page-” Strike opened his eyes and immediately looked down at Robin, whose cheeks were hollowed around his cock. 

He groaned helplessly. 

“Mr. Strike?”

Robin was pumping her head faster and faster, her lips sliding up and down easily with how much spit was on him, and the pressure that had started as a slow build at the base of his spine had reached an insistent, warning throb of pleasure.

“I-”

One of Robin’s hands was on his thighs, bracing herself, and the other one was fisted around the base of his cock, her wrist twisting in time with her mouth, and she kept having to push her glasses back up on her nose so she took her hand from his thigh and pulled them off, throwing them across the room, and it felt so good, so fucking fantastic, he never wanted this feeling to stop-

“Mr. Strike!?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he groaned without thinking, his brain caught between answering the agent and warning Robin, who merely sped up, and then, the pleasurable throb reached its breaking point, and he pumped his hips up, once, and came in a rapturous burst. 

“Fucking hell,” he swore, as Robin slowed, swallowing, and held his jerking cock in her mouth for a few long, heavenly moments.

“Mr. Strike. I’m afraid I’m going to terminate this call, and you’ll have to speak to a different agent, who will be informed of this account history.” The insurance broker’s voice spoke primly into his ear, and there was the click of the call ending.

Strike put the phone down on the desk, and Robin released him, getting awkwardly up. She stood, looking discretely away as he tucked himself back into his trousers, then stood as well, slightly shakily. 

“So,” he said, as she went and retrieved the glasses from the corner they’d been tossed to. 

“So,” she replied, looking at him and then blushing. 

“That was unexpected.” He grinned. “But fucking appreciated.”

“She grinned back, the blush deepening. “I noticed you - earlier - when I was looking for the file-”

“Shit. Yeah. I’m sorry you saw that.”

Robin’s eyes sparkled. 

“I’m not.”

“No?"

“No. Because it gave me the courage to just-go for it, you know?”

He raised his eyebrows playfully. 

“I do know.”

She looked down, cheeks burning. He reached a gentle hand under her chin and brought her gaze back to his. 

“Robin.”

“Yeah?”

“That was amazing. And now I’m going to go for it.”

Her cheeks were flushed, her beautiful blue-grey eyes a storm of emotion. He gave her a gentle smile. 

“I want to do this. Us. For real.”

Tears were glittering in her eyes now, and she laughed, wiping at the bottoms of them with the heels of her hands. 

“You’re just saying that because I gave you a blow job under your desk.”

He grinned.

“I’m definitely saying that because you gave me a blow job under my desk.” 

They laughed, and then she took a deep breath, looking at him. 

“For real, Strike?”

He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her relax into him.

“For real, Ellacott.” He kissed her hair.

She buried her face happily into his chest.

“And Robin?” he bent low, speaking in her ear.

“Yes?”

“Keep the glasses.”


End file.
